Never-failing
by xsempiternal-sentimentx
Summary: "She had, night after night, patiently tended to him, holding vigil beside his bed. And each morning she'd greet him with a smile, one so like her mother's, a glass of water and tablets for his headache. Never-failing. That's how he would describe her" A short fic that could, honestly, be read as any kind of fiction...I just shaped it around a story in my head. Enjoy :)


So! After absolutely AGES (I more or less just dropped off the FF map), there's another small story...

It's actually very confusing taken out of context...so, a little context

Firstly, no magic - its a much more compelling text without magic  
Secondly, There's 3 characters mentioned in here - a man, a woman and a young girl  
_Man - Draco  
__Woman - Hermione  
__Young Girl (Anna) - Their daughter __  
_

WARNING: Depending on how you view it, this story can be rather dark; Hence the T rating

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or its characters :)_

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Four white walls and the heavy stench of sterilizing alcohol formed her prison. Thin plastic tubes carefully inserted into her wrists kept her from moving her heavily bandaged arms. A crisp white linen sheet was draped over her thin frame, protecting her legs from the cold metal bed rails. He stared at her battered form on the white bed and tried to take in the blood-stained gauze her arms and legs were wrapped in. She'd looked a lot worse when they first admitted her into the ER but she still looked as if someone had hacked at her body with a knife. His little Anna in this condition... and he still didn't have the complete story.

Draco didn't know exactly what had happened. He'd come home from a late night out, drinking himself beyond recognition, and stumbled home to find all the lights off in the house. Barely keeping himself upright, he'd bumped and cursed his way through the house switching on all the lights and calling for her. On the second floor he'd found her on the floor of the bathroom, passed out. The time between him finding her on the floor of the bathroom and admitting her into the ER, trying to keep his own breathing regular, had become a blur. All he can recall is the image of her body on the bathroom tiles, slumped against the vanity cabinet, vivid red lines of blood running down her arms and legs, pooling around her. Her favourite perfume, Daisy, had shattered near her head and a floral scent, mixed with the saltiness unique to blood, assaulted him. Beside her unconscious form he had found the blade from his old razor, drops of blood clinging to the sharp edge. He'd wanted to scream at her unconscious form. Instead he'd called for help and gradually explained through his drunken haze, what had happened.

Waiting for help to arrive had been agonizing. He'd been in no fit state to drive and so had no choice but to wait for someone to come and take her to the hospital. In the darkened hallway, with her unconscious figure against him, he'd tried to still his shaking hands and force air through the tight feeling in his chest. In that dark hallway it hadn't been that hard to convince himself that it had all been his fault, as it always was. Draco convinced himself he was the one responsible for the state she was in now. Thinking through the heavy intoxication, he'd realized he couldn't remember ever seeing her sad. She'd always been frustrated at him, every night when he came home late, but not truly upset.

"Why? Why must you treat yourself like this?"

That's what she'd asked him, while supporting him up the stairs to his room, one night. And he'd always been too out of it to spare her more than a thought or glance. Yet, thinking back on it, how could she not have felt burdened? As strong as his daughter has proven herself to be...no teenage girl should ever have to take care of her father like that.

The death of her mother, had probably been what had started his drinking. He'd wandered from the funeral, away from the sympathy of her friends, wrapped in black, into a dimly-lit club and ordered a drink.

He'd stayed late.

The numbing sensation he'd experienced as the first drink passed through his system had been addictive. It was nothing like the occasional wine he'd shared with her, little Anna watching the pair intently. The pulsing lights and loud music had been an anaesthetic to the constant ache he'd been feeling.

The first night hadn't been too bad, although the smell of cheap perfume clung to him all the way home. Yet, as time wore on, he began arriving later and later to work each morning, hung-over. Always hung-over.

And Draco knew, without really saying, there was no excuse for his behaviour. Not really. He could, of course, blame it on the fact his wife passed away. Yet, even just trying to convince himself of that wasn't possible, because she'd held up better than him. When he'd been out late at night, losing himself to the alcohol, Anna had stayed responsible and rational. While he, as her parent, had become a child.

She had, night after night, patiently tended to him, holding vigil beside his bed. And each morning she'd greet him with a smile, one so like her mother's, a glass of water and tablets for his headache. Never-failing. That's how he would describe her. She was constant, always there and always taking care of him. Not once did she complain. And not once did he imagine that she mightn't be okay, that she might be struggling as well.

He knew now, of course, that she had been struggling. The blood stained walls of the bathroom and her lifeless figure on the hospital bed were proof enough of that.

Looking at her he wondered, what would Hermione have thought? Of his behaviour, of what happened to her? She'd be disappointed for sure... He could almost picture it: her shaking her head at him, hand on her hips, judging him. It used to annoy him so much before...that scrutinizing she was always privy to. He give anything for that now, for a word of guidance; or even a sharp slap upside the head. Still, he knew. He knew he didn't really need her to tell him what to do...he knew what he had to do. It was a matter of if he'd ever get the chance to do it.

"How ironic would it be," Draco thought "If, at the very moment I realise where I've done wrong, I lose the chance to make it right?"

All this time, sheer selfishness and apathy had made him so oblivious to the damage he'd brought upon his little Anna. Now, realising that, he hoped he wouldn't lose person he'd cared about. He hoped for a chance to watch over her and care for her...as she had done for him...as he should've done for her.

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_Reviews, please :)_


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